Through The Eyes Of The Spider
by Ranger Do'Urden
Summary: Fillers from the Final Problem. We were told Holmes has some encounters with Moriarty before Watson was in the picture, but what exactly happened? Starts right after Moriarty visits Holmes. Sorry I'm terrible with summaries! :)
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: This is my first attempt at a Sherlock Holmes story. This particular story was originally written as a paper for my Honors English Class. The length had to be exactly 800 words and other rules applied. I am uploading this story the way it was first written, I'm hoping by publishing this I can improve my writing skills. So please, if you are reading this, share some feed back with me! As any author can tell you, constructive criticism is always welcomed. So please review! Let me know what you think, and be honest with me. I'm not one to go cry in a corner if your harsh. As far as I am concerned, I can only improve.

**Summary:** Missing scene from The Final Problem with some insight into Professor Moriarty's head. Features the Professor and Colonel Moran discussing their plans for Sherlock Holmes. Also gives you some insight into Moriarty's thoughts.

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Through The Eyes Of The Spider

Professor Moriarty looked up in annoyance as his thoughts were interrupted by the tapping on his door. Sighing softly to himself, he reached up and slowly massaged his temples. He looked up as the door quietly opened and Colonel Moran stood at the threshold, seeking permission to enter. Moriarty waved the man in distractedly, still contemplating how to eliminate the newest threat to his organization once and for all.

Colonel Moran warily approached the desk his employer currently occupied and quietly waited to be addressed. Moran barely repressed a sigh as the silence slowly became unbearable. Usually the Colonel wouldn't hesitate to break the silence currently engulfing the room. Usually he would never be intimidated by a mere man, no matter how brilliant or dangerous. But never before had he seen his employer so frustrated and for the first time in his life, the Colonel was scared. As the Professor's right hand man, he had personally seen the anger and hatred slowly building behind the Professor's cold eyes over the last several months. He had also seen what happens to those on the receiving side of his anger. Moran shuddered despite himself, he did not want to be the one to face this man's wrath.

"Sherlock Holmes is beginning to seriously inconvenience me," Moriarty's cold voice cut through the silence. The Professor watched in amusement when he saw the Colonel jump in surprise at the sound of his voice. "I had originally enjoyed matching wits with the man but he is proving to be quite a problem. He must be removed from the equation."

"How much time do I have?" Moran asked, mentally berating himself for his lack of composure earlier. Moriarty had obviously noticed and enjoyed it.

"I want him removed by the end this week, can you manage it?" Moriarty asked, already expecting the answer.

"He won't even know what hit him." Moran replied with a cocky grin, already devising his plan of attack.

"Do not underestimate this man," Moriarty sternly warned. "He has proven himself to be on an intellectual level far surpassing your own. He has managed to  
evade my agents too many times and this game of cat and mouse grows tiresome. I will not accept failure on your part." The Colonel swallowed nervously, the last man to disappoint the Professor was currently at the bottom of the Thames.

"I never miss," Moran replied seriously. "But what of his doctor friend, is he supposed to be taken care of too?"

Moriarty shook his head, "Doctor Watson is not to be harmed. Holmes has made it clear that he is not involved and that he is ignorant of our doings. Holmes is unwilling to put his dearest friend in danger."

Colonel Moran cocked his head at the cold sarcasm in his employer's voice, wondering what this meant for the Doctor. Unconcerned at this time, he swiftly left the study, eager to begin the hunt against the greatest enemy known to the London Underground, Sherlock Holmes.

Professor Moriarty stood as Moran left and began to pace in frustration. It was obvious that there was a leak in his organization, Holmes was getting his information from someone high up. Moriarty felt the familiar rage building up inside him as he remembered all the carefully laid plans which Holmes had destroyed. He sighed yet again and felt his anger slowly disintegrate into something resembling admiration. He had known the consulting detective was a force to be reckoned with long before they had started their epic battle of wits. The man far surpassed his impressive reputation as a crime fighter. He was as sharp as a razor and to be honest, he had rather enjoyed the intellectual war against the consulting detective. This young detective had managed to achieve what no other man could, Holmes had shaken Moriarty's organization to its very core.

_It seems like such a pity for our duel to end like this,_ Moriarty thought with regret. _I feel such respect for my antagonist, never before have I had the pleasure of competing against someone of my skill. I might even be so bold as to call him my equal_. Moriarty groaned in frustration. It was illogical to continue this train of thought. Holmes was becoming a major threat and the foolish man had made his position clear, he refused to stand down. Within the week, the people of London would be mourning the mysterious death of the world's greatest consulting detective, because even with all his deductive prowess, Sherlock Holmes couldn't defeat Colonel Sebastian Moran at his own game. Soon this brilliant man would be nothing more than a memory and Moriarty would once again have free reign over London.

As it turned out, the criminal mastermind's prediction couldn't have been farther from the truth.

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Up next we have Sherlock's point of view, rather excited to do him. Reviews keep me writing and happy. So please don't let me hold you, click that button... the one that says review... no the other one... yes... now click it...there you go, I appreciate it!


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Well here it is, Chapter 2. I know, pretty pathetic. What is it, 3 paragraphs? The next one will be longer I promise! That just seemed like a good place to stop. So here it is, hope you like it. Also huge thanks to those who reviewed, y'all are amazing!**

**Riandra: You have been beyond helpful! To be honest, I had never planned to write more than one chapter. But your simple PM about how you liked Moriarty really boosted my confidence in my writing. I really can't thank you enough for all the help and encouragement you have given me, whether you meant to or not. So I hope you like this portrayal of Holmes, I had a lot of fun with him!  
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**Arty Diane: Well first off, thanks for reviewing period. There's nothing better than logging in and seeing that someone had liked your story and taken the time to tell you. I'm glad you liked the ending, I was rather fond of it myself! I'm trying to follow the original story to the best of my ability, I'm just adding a slight twist to it. Also, thank you for taking the time to share my errors with me, they have been fixed and hopefully will not be repeated. Hope you like the new chapter, it will make a short reading! :) **

**Heroicagal: Well... I really don't know what to say to you other than thanks for favoriting this. You are the first person to ever favorite one of my stories, sort of makes me wonder if my others suck but... that has nothing to do with anything! So once again, thanks! :)  
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Through the Eyes of the Spider: Chapter 2

Sherlock Homes was shaken. To the causal observer he might appear normal, his face that expressionless mask his dear friend had so often observed. But a trained eye would see the signs: a paleness around the face, a slight stiffness in his bearing, and his eyes constantly scanning the crowd around him for danger. Yes, Sherlock Holmes was shaken. To think the Napoleon of Crime, the very man he had dogged steadily for months, had been in his sitting room only moments ago... the thought was unbearable. After the Professor's impromptu visit, Holmes had realized just how vulnerable he was in Baker Street. A single shot through the window or a drop of poison in his afternoon tea would have been all it had taken to end his existence. Holmes suddenly realized that the only reason he was alive was through the Professor's goodwill, and that had ended today. Moriarty had made it quite clear that he was now a target.

Holmes shot abruptly to his feet, not out of fear, but it would be stupid for him to stay here unprotected. After all, it is stupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you. It was obvious that Baker Street was too dangerous for him now, but where to go? His first thought was Watson, they had faced so many dangers together, why should this be any different? _"But it was,"_ Holmes mused _"A man would be hard pressed to find a companion as fine as Watson, but how could I be so selfish? My dear Bosewell has a wife now, how can I ask him to leave her when his very involvement would put them both in terrible danger?" _Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. _"No,"_ he decided _"I cannot involve Watson, not this time."_ But who should he turn to? Who does Sherlock Holmes, London's greatest consulting detective turn to in his time of need? Surely not Lestrade, the incompetent inspector could hardly find his way to Scotland Yard, much less stop the greatest criminal London has never seen. He might as well knock on Moriarty's door with a bow on his head, claiming it was Christmas for all the good the inspector would do. Holmes couldn't help but let out a soft groan as he reached the inevitable conclusion, Mycroft. It wasn't that he didn't care for his elder brother, they were in fact very close in their own peculiar way. This was a simple matter of pride. The thought of him, the great Sherlock Homes, hiding behind his elder brother like a mere child was inconceivable. Yet despite the gloom thoughts that had been running through his mind only moments ago, Holmes let out a soft chuckle at the picture in his head.

Holmes was well aware that he had lost a considerable amount of weight during the long months of investigation against the Professor. He also had no doubt that Mycroft's already large girth had widened since their last meeting. Add in the fact that his dear brother was several inches taller than himself, the idea of Holmes cowering behind his brother was simply too amusing! No doubt Watson would have a good laugh at the sight. But now was not the time for such pointless thoughts, Homes reminded himself. Moriarty wasn't one to let grass grow under his feet or to make empty threats, it wouldn't surprise him the least if his flat was already under surveillance. Holmes grinned shrewdly to himself as he glanced at his gaunt face in the mirror, on putting the final touches to his disguise. The game was afoot and he had no intention of losing.

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**AN: So here y'all go, Chapter 2! Hope you enjoyed Holmes, I had a slight case of writer's block but I hope it all came out ok!... And here we go, the dreaded review plead. As an active reader I know they can be obnoxious for those of you you will actually read this, however they can't be helped. The only reason this story is even posted is for reviews, otherwise I wouldn't go through the trouble. So if you please, click that little button and let us both get on with our lives ;) **


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Well, I'm back with chapter 3. I really do apologize for my short chapters and I had hoped to make them longer... as you can see, that really didn't happen. I guess this is just how their going to be. I have to say I have been really disappointed these last few days, I haven't had a single review. I have been rather discouraged and this probably wouldn't have been up but for the fact that I had a ton of free time in school today. Also I do realize its hard to review when I barely write anything. So please, can I have some reaction this time? I don't know how to put footnotes into this document, so if you have any issues with way things are written a certain way, please see the bottom as it might be explained. That being said I really hope you enjoy this new chapter. And, without further ado... here is chapter 3! :)**

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Chapter 3

Holmes hurried down the street, carefully scanning the crowd for anything out-of-place. He was careful to stay aware of his surroundings, the incident with the brick was far too close to his liking. He had been correct in his assumption that Moriarty had Baker Street under surveillance. Though he had tried to hide, Homes had noticed the man watching his flat almost immediately. Homes gave an inward laugh as he remembered his method of escape. No doubt the man was still there, unaware his target had slipped out of a nearby window. _I wonder how long it will take him to figure it out,_ Holmes mused with a slight grin, nimbly weaving his way through the traffic around him.

Hearing a sudden commotion, he glanced up in surprise and narrowly avoided being struck down by a carriage. Heart thumping in his chest, Holmes cursed at himself for allowing his attention to slip for even a moment. As this cab just proved, even the slightest slip in his concentration could prove fatal. Holmes let out a soft groan as a cold rain drop slid down the collar of his shirt. The skies of London had been covered by a dark ominous cloud all day, he had hoped the rain would hold off long enough for him to reach his brother's place. _Obviously not,_ Holmes thought in annoyance as yet another infuriating drop landed on his nose. Pulling his coat around him, Holmes was alarmed to see the streets were emptying, people choosing to avoid the elements in the safety of their own homes. He wasn't worried so much about the rain and possibility of sickness, as troublesome that could be. He was more concerned with the fact that he would make a lovely target alone in the dark streets of London. With that in mind, Holmes quickened his pace, his long legs splashing through puddles without a care. Within minutes he was soaked to the bone and miserable. Peering through the rain, he was relived to find he had finally made it to Pall Mall. With the prospect of a dry shelter only moments away, Holmes lifted his head against the driving rain and warily approached his dear brother's flat. The place appeared empty, the curtains were drawn and not a light could be seen. _He most have decided to wait out the rain in the warm comforts of Diogenes,_ Holmes deduced. Taking in his own wet and muddied appearance, Holmes really couldn't blame his brother.

Not one to stand on formalities, Holmes walked in without a word to the landlady and made his way to his brother's rooms. Kneeling beside the door, he expertly picked the lock and slipped in. Closing the door softly and being sure to lock it, Holmes turned and studied his brother's rooms. The objects and layout of the room clearly reflected his personality. The furniture was arranged in a way that pleased the eye, but was still functional. The room was clean and everything was clearly in its proper place, a sharp contrast to his own living quarters. Not a speck of dust could be seen and his papers were stacked neatly upon his desk. Holmes smiled to himself at the sight of the room, clearly nothing had changed since the last time he was here. Another shiver shook his thin frame and he stared longingly at the fireplace. A fire was obviously out of the question, at least until Mycroft returned, but he couldn't help but long for some warmth. Shaking his head at the distracting thoughts, Holmes dragged himself to the overstuffed chair and sat down in relief. Drawing his knees to his chin, he continued his observation of the rooms. Truly nothing seemed different; the same couch that had belonged to their parents faced the fireplace, the same glass vase sat on the table, and the same hairline crack in the plaster was hidden by the same painting. Giving up, Homes leaned back against the chair and with a pang of regret, noticed he had left both his pipe and Stradivarius at Baker Street. Oh how he long for the soothing effect of his pipe and beloved instrument! Turning his head to the side, he noticed a book shelf next to him and began to unconsciously scan the titles. He was surprised to see Watson's newest book, one of his many that overly romanticized his skills in the art of deduction. _So dear Mycroft has been reading Watson's tales... interesting,_ Holmes pondered. As he contemplated this newest side of his brother, he was interrupted by a noise in the hallway. Cocking his head to the side, he tensed until he heard the gentle clang of a key in the lock, followed by his brother's familiar sigh. Homes relaxed as the door opened and revealed his brother's bulky from.

"Hullo brother mine," he called at the sight of his brother. "I was wondering when you would show, it's getting rather cold in here."

"Good evening Sherlock," he replied, not the slightest bit surprised to see his younger brother had once again broken into his rooms. Walking over to the fireplace, he quickly lite a fire and warmed his hands by the flames. "I can see you came here in a hurry, you are not dressed appropriately for this weather. What do you need Sherlock, not even you go frolicking through London in this sort of weather."

Holmes grinned at his brother's description of his misadventure and blissfully warmed himself by the fire. "You are correct Mycroft, I did not plan to come visit you. I am currently being pursued by the most dangerous criminal London has never seen, and I need your help."

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~ I'm not sure what happened first, the brick or the carriage. As you can plainly see, I chose the brick

~I'm not sure how far exactly Pall Mall is from Baker Street. I did do my research and either I am terrible with computers (which I am) or it's just really hard to find.

~Its not very clear in canon the relationship between Sherlock and Mycroft. Many fanfiction writers believe they don't get along at all, while there are just as many who believe they are close but aren't fond of openly showing their affection. As you can tell, I am among the latter, believing they are close in their own way. This will be elaborated on in the next chapter.

~And the lock picking part. In the new movie featuring RDJ and JL, there is a scene where Holmes has trouble opening a door. I don't think this was done out of lack of skill, but rather as a way to lure Watson over there and convince him to help. Also in the original canon, I don't remember which case, but it required Holmes to break in a house and pick the lock on the safe, which he did (in Watson's opinion) far too well. Further more let's think like smart people. Holmes isn't someone to do anything halfway. If he is going to commit to learn how to do something, chances are he's going to try and be the best. Why would he buy and learn to use lockpicks if he wasn't very handy with them? Food for thought! :)

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**AN: Well, thank you for reading and I really hope you enjoyed it... not that I would know considering no one will review. Going back to reviews; I'm sure y'all are sick of reading it and I'm sick of writing it. Solution? I have chapter 4 almost completed, a few quick corrections and its done. Here's the deal: I'm not going to post it until someone reviews. I know sounds childish but its very disappointing to write all this and no one say anything about it. So until then, Ranger Do'Urden is signing off for an unknown amount of time. May we meet again real soon.  
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	4. Chapter 4

**AN: First off I want to apologize for how long it has taken me to upload this. I was truly disheartened by the lack of response I got on this story. Then my muse kind of moved on. I discovered BBC Sherlock, I would definitely recommend it to anyone with Netflix. I didn't think it would be good, but I got bored one night and it blew my mind! But I digress. This story was originally supposed to follow Doyle's stories, to the best of my abilities. I'm still trying to do that, but I'm afraid that BBC has affected the way I portray Holmes and Mycroft. I really tried to keep them in character, I would really appreciate it if you would share to me how I did. **

**With all that out of the way, at long last, here is Chapter 4! Enjoy and review! **

Chapter 4

Mycroft sighed when he saw the trail of muddied footprints littering the newly cleaned carpet. No doubt his landlady would like a word with him regarding their origins later. Right now however, he had more important things on his mind. This blasted storm had disrupted his orderly schedule enough as it was and he wanted nothing more than to relax by the fire with a nice cup of tea. _SQUISH! _Looking down, Mycroft nearly groaned at the soaked rug, looks like that cup of tea would have to wait. Determined to solve this problem as soon as possible, he followed the trail down the corridor, noticing they seemed to be leading straight to his rooms. Judging from the length of the culprits gait, Mycroft determined him, for it was indeed a man, to be around 6 feet tall. The sheer amount of water and mud indicated the man had walked a long distance, opting to walk instead of taking a cab. The larger puddle at the front door indicated this man had been in the rain for a while, for he had stopped to enjoy the heat from the room before continuing his task. Clearly not a burglar then, he hoped a burglar would be more careful than to leave such obvious traces of his presence. All this Mycroft deduced in a heartbeat, all the while processing all the people who fit this description, there were very few. Who would be careless enough to leave mud all over his flat? Who would actually break into his rooms instead of simply visiting his club or offices? Opening the door, Mycroft couldn't suppress the groan that escaped his lips as his suspicions were confirmed. There was his dear brother, soaking wet, sprawled like a rag-doll over his favorite armchair. He rolled his eyes at the sight. The fool was soaked to the bone, obviously from walking through the downpour outside, and shivering with cold. Turning his back to the pathetic sight, he hung his coat and wearily rubbed his eyes.

"Good evening Sherlock," he called, not gracing the fool with his full attention. "I can see you came here in a hurry, you are not dressed appropriately for this weather. What do you want, not even you will go frolicking through London in this kind of weather."

"You are correct Mycroft, I did not plan to come visit you," Holmes acknowledged. "I am currently being pursued by the most dangerous criminal London has never seen, and I need your help."

Ignoring his brother, Mycroft made his way to the fireplace and quickly had a blazing fire started. Warming his hands appreciatively, he again turned his attention to his younger sibling who had suddenly scooted as close to the fire as he could.

"I say Sherlock," Mycroft remarked in amusement "If you got any closer, I'd be afraid you'd catch fire yourself!"

"Please Mycroft, do not bore me with your dreadful sense of humor. I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for it." The younger Holmes mumbled, shooting a glare at his amused brother. Mycroft said nothing, choosing to study his brother while said brother pointingly ignored him, staring intently into the flames. After several minutes of silence, Mycroft let out an angry growl and purposely strode towards his bedroom, shutting the door with a bang. Turning his head in alarm, Sherlock was relieved when Mycroft quickly returned with a nightgown and house robe in hand.

"For God's sake Sherlock," he reprimanded, tossing the clothes to the shivering wreck before him. "Get out of the clothes before you catch pneumonia."

Holmes deftly caught the offending clothes without a word and quickly strode out of the room. He returned shortly and Mycroft couldn't help but grin at the sight before him. His brother closely resembled a drowned cat, his dark hair plastered against his forehead. He once again made his way back to the spot before the fire, the gown complety swallowing his thin frame. A very thin and very angry cat, Mycroft mused, ingoring the glare shot at him. With his brother now warm and out of his soaked attire, Mycroft sat down heavily in a dry chair and inspected him properly. His brother had always had a thin frame, Mycroft remembered how even as a child, Sherlock would ofen forget to eat. He knew his brother didn't do it on purpose, Sherlock just couldn't help it. But that didn't stop the anger he felt as he scanned his brother's emanciated body. Pale skin was drawned so tightly over his sharp cheekbones that the skin seemed translecent. His grey eyes, usually so sharp were now sunk low into his skull, the color contrasted greatly by the dark bags that hung under them. It was obvious to Mycroft that he hadn't eaten a proper meal in weeks and slept in even longer. In fact, Mycroft noticed with alarm, the man in question seemed liable to pass out any moment.

"Oh Sherlock," The elder Holmes whispered in dismay. "What have you done to yourself?"

"I have already told you," Holmes replied, giving his brother a sharp look. "I have been pursuing the most dangerous man London has never seen but now it appears that the Hunter has turned into the hunted."

Mycroft cast his brother yet another disapproving look, but knew it was pointless. Nothing he said would ever convince the stubborn man to take care of himself. After a moment of silence, Mycroft finally decided to play his game. "Who is it then? Who is this notorious criminal of which you speak?" Mycroft was surprised to see something resembling admiration cross his brother's gaunt feature.

"Moriarty," he replied. "James Moriarty."

"Sherlock, do you mean professor Moriarty, the mathematician?" Mycroft asked in disbelief.

"The one and only," Holmes grinned. "I have been investigating him for months now, following each trail only to have it slip from my grasp. I have only managed to chop off the limbs of this spider, for that is what he is. A spider, sitting in a criminal web, and he knows how each and every strand dances." Holmes' eyes glinted with excitement as he spoke. "Don't you understand brother? He is the criminal mastermind, organizing thousands of crimes, all from the safety of his web. No one can get close to him, no one even knows who he is."

They sat in silence for many minutes, Mycroft letting all this sink in while Holmes rested in his chair. Finally Mycroft spoke up, "Why you?" He asked. "How did you manage to learn of him?"

"As you no doubt know," Holmes began slowly, gathering his thoughts about him. "There are few in this city who knows London's criminal underworld as well as I. There have been many cases where I felt as if there was something more, a presence lurking in the shadows just beyond my sight. I was suspicious of course, but when I could find nothing to support my 'feelings' I simply let the matter rest. But this past year, I have felt this shadow grow. It became more and more prominent until I finally decided that it couldn't be ignored any longer. I went over my old case notes, looking for anything that stood out, anything that could point me on this creatures track. I compared them to present crimes and slowly began to pick out thin strands connecting one crime to another. It took months and led me on many a wild goose chase, but I finally found my man, James Moriarty. Once I had his name it was easier, I began to catch up with him and we began our brilliant dance. I would learn of his plans and lay my traps, but the man himself always eluded me. It was like chess. I could take all the pawns I wanted, I even caught a bishop or two. But the King always eluded me and I fear he is finally making his move." Holmes' ended his speech with a weary sigh, these past months were finally catching up to him. He slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes, relaxing his guard for the first time in months.

In that one moment it seemed to Mycroft as if his brother had aged an eternity. Pushing all thoughts of this criminal mastermind out of his head, he turned to his brother. "When was the last time you ate, brother mine," he asked quietly.

"I just told you of the most dangerous crinimal in all of England, if not the world, and you focus on mere trifles like that?" Holmes growled angirly.

"Trifles Sherlock? I think not dear brother!" Mycroft retorted in anger. "Look at yourself, look what you have done! When will you get in through your thick skull that you cannot abuse your body like this and not expect to collapse?"

"Please Mycroft," Ho,es waved his hand dismissively. "I have more important things to do with my time."

"No Sherlock," Mycroft started, unconsiously rasing his voice in anger. "I cannot allow this to continue, I will fetch you something to eat and then you will rest. You cannot put this kind of of stress on your body and not have something give."

"I cannot spare the oxygen or energy need for digestion that would otherwise go to my brain," Holmes countered and glared at his brother. "Nor can I waste time resting when the most dangerous criminal I have ever faced has free reign of London!" Turning away from his brother, Holmes once again stared into the flames. "Not when the lives of others hang in the balance," he added softly.

Mycroft felt his anger instantly dissipate at those soften spoken words. His brother felt responsible for all the lives lost because of his inability to catch the mastermind. With this new realization, Mycroft began to understand his brother's actions, why he had obsessed over this man. "Sherlock," he called quietly. The man in question turned his head and locked gazes with his sibling. "It is not your fault it has taken this long to catch him. He has had every advantage over you. If what you've said is correct then he must have a massive organization, an organization capable of watching your every move, He has been sitting in his perfectly spun web while you have had nothing to follow but the faintest of strands." Mycroft eyed his brother worriedly, it was out of character for his brother to be so open, to be so... human. It scared him. The man before him just nodded dejectedly. He felt every life lost at his inability to do his job keenly. Holmes knew it was illogical to think this, the consulting detective had done far more than anyone else ever could. If it weren't for him, no one would even know of Professor! Yet strangely enough he couldn't shake the dark despair that threaten to overwhelm him. Mentally shaking his head, Holmes once again locked gazes with his brother and nodded strongly.

Mycroft gave a mental sigh of relief, glad his brother had apparently shook himself from whatever mood he had been in. Mycroft strongly suspected the reason of his brother's uncharacteristic outburst had something to do with his inability to take care of himself. The long months of little food and no sleep was finally taking his toll on the man, slowly, but surely, it was bring the great detective down. "What of Doctor Watson?" Mycroft finally asked. The question had been at the front of his mind ever since Sherlock first appeared in his flat. Surely if the Doctor was involved he wouldn't have let his brother's condition deteriorate to such a poor standard.

Homes' pale features suddenly harden, "Watson is not to be involved," he said sternly, eyes flashing with determination.

Mycroft said nothing, waiting for his brother to elaborate.

He was not disappointed, Holmes took a deep breath and continued. "Moriarty has given me his word that as long as I make no attempts to contact Watson, the good doctor shall be left out of any dealings. You cannot contact him Mycroft, not even to simply check on me."

"But Sherlock," Mycroft protested. "The Doctor is your friend, is he not? He has been there for you throughout so many of your cases, why would you refuse his help? You cannot face Moriarty alone, you need allies."

"You think I don't know this?' Holmes growled out. "I wish for nothing more than to have my dear friend with me, never have I needed him more than I do now. But times have changed Mycroft. The Doctor has a wife, he has moved on with his life. He has a practice of his own and it would be incredibly selfish to ask him to leave when his very involvement would place his world in danger. No Mycroft," Holmes shook his head. "The Doctor cannot partake in any of this."

Mycroft nodded his head, understanding what his brother was saying. "I understand Sherlock, you have my word I will make no attempt to contact him."

Holmes nodded his thanks, glad his brother could understand.

"But why have you come here, why now?" Mycroft continued. "Of course I am willing to help you any way I can Sherlock, but why, after all theses months, do come to now?"

Holmes smiled ruefully at his brother's question. "Truthfully, brother mine, I hadn't wished to involve you either. However I didn't have a choice. Moriarty came to my flat earlier this morning, he told me that he had grown tired of my attempts to destroy him and to drop the case." Holmes paused for a moment, remembering the conversation he held with the criminal. He remembered the shock he felt when he saw the fiend standing on the threshold of his flat. He remembered foolishly grabbing his gun and hiding it in his dressing gown pocket. Of course he was caught immediately, but he would be lying if he said the encounter hadn't frightened him. Taking another breath, Holmes continued his narrative. "He warned me that I 'must stand clear, or be trodden under foot'. He promised that if I was clever enough to bring around his own destruction, he would do the same to me." Holmes looked at his brother carefully, his eyes once again bright with strength and determination. "I am not afraid to die with this man Mycroft. I would consider it a successful ending to my career knowing that I had defeated the most dangerous man in London. But after his visit I realized that I was no longer safe in Baker Street. Moriarty isn't one to make idle threats. He promised my destruction, and he will do everything in his power to ensure his promise is carried out. After he left I hurriedly threw together a disguise and made my escape. Already I could see my flat was under surveillance but I hadn't prepared for this yet, I didn't know where to go. I stuck with the crowds and strolled through London, trying to formulate a plan. For all my careful precautions; the disguise and the crowds, I made one mistake and it nearly spelled disaster for me." Holmes stopped his narrative again, wondering how best to phrase this to Mycroft. Despite their odd relationship, the brothers were in fact quite close to one another. It would anger Mycroft greatly to know that Moriarty had actually attempted to kill him. Sneaking a glace at his brother, he continued his story awaiting the inevitable anger. "I was so intent on my thoughts, I hadn't noticed how close to the street I was. The carriage came out of nowhere, flying down the street and swerved right into me. I dove to the side at the last second and narrowly avoided being struck down. I knew I needed to get off the streets immediately and I could think of no better place to go than here. However I once again made a mistake. After the incident with the carriage I sought to be as far from the street as possible. That's when he made his second attempt. The rain had just started to fall and the streets were clearing. I knew I needed to hurry, I couldn't get caught outside alone. As I passed by a building, a brick suddenly fell and crashed into the ground right beside me. The police were there instantly and I directed them to the top of the roof. Of course there was no one insight and they tried to convince me that the wind had blown it off. I knew better. The rest you know, I had no other incidents and waited for you here." His story at an end, silence once again engulfed the room.

Mycroft closed his eyes and leaned his head back, willing all his emotions away. Moriarty had nearly succeeded in killing his brother, his little brother. Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach. How dare this man attempt to hurt his brother! Yet he pushed that anger away, he had no time to deal with emotions right now. Right now his brother needed him. Opening his eyes he was surprised to see the room had darkened, the fire had started to die, and his brother was curled up on the chair, fast asleep. How long had he sat there? Mycroft quietly stood and draped a thick blanket over his brother's frame, smiling as the sight brought back memories of their childhood. Gently placing a hand on his messy hair, Mycroft swore to himself that he would protect Sherlock from this maniac. He would not let the criminal fulfill his promise. Taking one last look at his brother, Mycroft made his way to his room, shutting the door behind him quietly.

**AN: Once again I hoped you liked it! I'm kind of nervous that Holmes and Mycroft might be OC. As I said, BBC Sherlock has taken me away from the original canon. I have no idea when I plan on writing the next chapter, it really all depends on you, the reader. Soccer is over and I don't know what to do with myself. The more reviews I get, the quicker this will be updated. Until then, I highly recommend you go out and watch BBC Sherlock. Its a modern version of Sherlock Holmes, but they do a great job sticking to the original stories, and Benedict Cumberbatch makes a great Sherlock. He really hit all of Sherlock's quirks perfectly. Let me know what you thought of it, by that I mean both this story and if you actually go out and watch Sherlock. I love hearing from y'all!**


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